As promised, I have progress to share!

2 weeks ago I started on a commitment to get healthier and shed these last few preggie pounds that have been hanging on. The plan was thus: Jazzercise 3 times per week, portion control, limited sugar (and processed foods in general), and more balanced eating.

I didn’t do perfectly, of course. The first week I only got to Jazzercise twice, and the second week only once. But I’ve been working out at home too – Pilates for the lower body, special “girly” push-ups (that are anything BUT girly!), and your basic ab exercises. And I indulged in dessert a few times, which wasn’t part of the plan, but it was all right. I made a deal with myself that if I made the dessert, like from scratch, I could have a serving. Or if it was a special occasion.

I did have the most DIVINE slice of red velvet cake at a family party, and then a teeny slice of the chocolate layer as well. But dangit, I saved up my calories all day for that! So nope, I don’t feel the least bit guilty. I enjoyed every luscious bite.

I’m discovering the fun of low-fat baking. I have a couple of cookbooks with several recipes for everything from cheesecake to brownies using some of the most clever substitutions I’ve seen. I’ll be exploring this new genre and will share the tasty (or not) results with all of you!

Now, on to my progress:

I haven’t lost very many pounds, but I’m down into the range I’m shooting for! I haven’t been there since I got married. I don’t measure my progress primarily on the scale anyway. I consider the scale just one of many indicators of how much progress I’m making.

My biggest indicator is my appearance and how my clothes are fitting. For my husband’s work picnic I slipped into my absolute favorite pair of capris, which just two weeks ago were indecently tight. I was so thrilled by that victory, I didn’t mind skipping the ice cream and pushing our nearly 20 pound baby up steep hills all over the zoo in his stroller. Yeah, husband pushed the stroller occasionally, but the thing is, he’s so tall he has to bend over to push it, and his legs are so long he kicks the stroller if he takes just regular strides. So I do most of the stroller-pushing. But I don’t mind. It’s a great workout! And I get to make faces with the baby – bonus! Hee hee hee…

I’m seeing results amazingly fast. All my pants and a lot of my shirts are starting to become loose. Apparently my body has insane muscle memory…

So we’re doing good! I can keep up with this method for another two weeks. I hereby pledge not to step on the scale again until two weeks from today. Which means I think I’m going to hide the scale. It sits out in our bathroom and it’s so hard to resist.

Round 2 – GO!

Don’t you hate it when you start writing a blog post you think is going to be absolutely brilliant, and then about 5 brutal self-edits later it’s going nowhere and you don’t really remember what your point was in the first place? Ugh.

I’m trying to write a post about my husband and me re-reading the book “Love & Respect” but it just kind of keeps rambling all over the place and I can’t seem to make it behave.

Yes, writing can “misbehave”. Believe it.

Writing, to me, is practically as good as a living, breathing organism. In order for a story to really take off, it has to live. The characters and situations have to feel real, even the most outrageous situations. One of the traits I admire most in professional writers is the ability to take what would otherwise be an absolutely ridiculous situation and make it believable.

The thing about a story becoming real, too, is the characters have to take on a life of their own. I remember one day I was sort of chatting with my husband about the story I have percolating in my brain and I said “I’m mad because one of my characters decided to do such-and-such.” It’s hard to describe – it wasn’t what I was originally planning, but one day that was just where the story went and I thought “That’s what’s supposed to happen.” It was bizarre, but at the same time it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

So back to what I was originally talking about – how to make my writing “behave”? I don’t think I really can. And I don’t think I really want to. Because ultimately, I know what I write comes from God, and the day I make my writing “behave” is the day I start thinking I can do it all by myself and stop relying on God. And then whatever I write wouldn’t be for His glory, and it wouldn’t be blessed by Him.

So what I try to do when a post or a story or whatever I’m writing doesn’t behave is put it on the proverbial back burner for a while. Someday, I know the rest of it will come along and then I’ll go back to it.

Which means someday you’ll get that “Love & Respect” post. Just not today.

Some of you may have noticed my Facebook status a few days ago about the fact that I’m not Supermom, and you may be wondering what that was all about.

We moms tend to put a lot of pressure on ourselves to do everything the “right” way. And then we beat ourselves up when we don’t do things the “right” way, or we discover the “right” way isn’t really working for us. Then we feel like failures because we didn’t live up to the expectations, whether they were our own expectations, someone else’s, or even expectations that came out of nowhere logical.

But there’s no need to beat ourselves up! Because really, what is the “right” way? As long as our kids are healthy and happy and know they’re loved, it’s the “right” way.

How did I go down this tangent?

It was the baby food.

I love the idea of making my own baby food. But the execution of said idea has gotten to the point where it’s more overwhelming and stressful than anything. My baby is eating so much these days, it’s getting really hard for me to keep up with him. The price of organic fruit isn’t all that great. The selection available to us isn’t all that great either.

There are other reasons too, but those are just personal temperament preferences I won’t get into here.

So, when I realized I was low on frozen baby food and facing another huge chunk of time in the kitchen preparing more, I caved. I talked to my husband and said “Babe, I can’t do it all anymore. It’s not working for my temperament. We need to figure out an alternative.”

And I don’t feel the least bit bad or guilty about it.

Which is HUGE progress for me!

I have an unfortunate tendency to work up in my mind what I think other peoples’ expectations are of me. I’ll keep doing something I don’t like, or something that’s not working for me, because I’m afraid of what other people will say. And that is ridiculous.

What it comes down to is I have to do what works for me and for my household. My household is individual and unique. We have to find the balance and the methods that work best for us. The ultimate goal is to have peace and harmony in our home. That looks different for us than it may for other families. And it’s okay! God created everyone different and unique, and thus all families are different and unique. It takes all kinds of different and unique people to make up the Kingdom of God.

So what are we going to do?

We sat down and talked about the issue. I really do want to continue making some of the baby’s food. So I can do just the vegetables. Organic vegetables don’t cost as much as organic fruit, and the veggies are easier for me to prepare. My husband did a little research and discovered we can purchase organic fruit baby food very reasonably. And the load off my mind will be worth it to us.

I’m proud of us for teaming up and figuring this out. And I’m proud of myself for having taken such a big step – being secure enough in my mothering abilities to go searching for what is going to work best for us, instead of just staying where I’m at because I’m afraid of what others might say.

So I’m not Supermom. I’m still figuring this “mom” thing out. But I’m confident I’m doing a pretty good job. It seems good enough for my baby, who is happy, healthy, and loving. So it’s good enough for me.

Do any of you ladies (or gentlemen, what the heck) relate to this?

You have a certain number of pounds you want to lose. You’d think the desire to lose those pounds would be motivation to do something about it. But when you think about the number of pounds, and you have no idea how long it’s going to take to lose them, you just get discouraged. And you haven’t even gotten started yet!

That’s been my cycle. I’m weird when it comes to motivation. I hate getting started with something. I despise it. It’s the hardest part. Once I get started, though, and I start doing well and seeing results, then I take off like a shot! It’s just getting over that initial hump…

So needless to say I haven’t done much towards my new goal lately. Unless you can call sinking into a deep slump and moping around working towards a goal. Which I don’t think you can.

My genius husband, though, came up with a plan for me:

“Honey,” he said, “if you committed to going to Jazzercise three times a week for two weeks, could you do that?”

“Yes…” I replied hesitantly.

“And if you committed to controlling your portion sizes better and keep cutting back on sugar for two weeks, could you do that?”

“Yes…” again.

“And if you committed to not weigh yourself for those entire two weeks, but just see how you do at the end, could you do that?”

“Yes.”

So that’s what I’m doing. Two weeks. Jazzercise 3 times per week. Portion control. Very limited sugar. And no stepping on the scale. I can do that. That’s a bite I can chew.

And at the end of those two weeks, I’ll think about doing two more weeks. Another two weeks will be doable.

Now that I think about it, that’s how I swam the equivalent of what they swim in an Ironman in a swimming pool. *Yep, I once did an entire Ironman. I’ve got the t-shirt to prove it. It took FOREVER. But I did it one lap at a time. I’d cruise through a lap, pause at the end, and say to myself, “Yeah, I can do that again.” So I did it again. And again. And again. But the point is, I took it one lap at a time. And I finished. I didn’t get discouraged, I didn’t get exhausted. I just focused on one lap at a time. “I can do this lap. Hey, that went pretty well. I can do another lap.”

Some people tried to tell me “You should just power it all out at once!” but I didn’t give in to the pressure. Why would I do something I knew would overwhelm and exhaust me? Maybe there were those who didn’t agree with my one-lap-at-a-time method, but I don’t care. Because at the end of each lap, I was proud of myself for doing that lap as well as I could. And when I finished all my laps, I was even prouder of myself. And nobody can take that away from me.

It’s taken me a long time to talk about that experience as something I’m proud of. I’d always kind of go “Oh, it was a long time ago…” when people asked about it. But dangit, I did it, and I’m proud of myself. I’m owning the experience. I’ll probably never do it again (and please smack me if I ever contemplate it) but the point is, it really did happen, and I’m proud of my accomplishment.

Today was my first day back at Jazzercise in more than a month. I won’t lie, it was tough. I got thoroughly worked. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to use my legs tomorrow. But gosh was it fun! I can’t wait until Thursday to go again! And if I play my cards right I’ll go Saturday too while Daddy and Baby have some man-time. I like going Tuesdays and Thursdays because it’s way less crowded than Mon-Wed-Fri. The dance floor is less crowded, and the childcare room is less crowded. It works out better for all of us, especially if I can go on Saturday, because then I can leave the baby at home, which saves me a childcare dollar, and gives me some “me time”. I’m excited to get back into the routine.

I’ll post my progress in two weeks!

I’m going to try this “streams of consciousness” thing again. You know, the one where you just write and post whatever comes out. Without obsessively self-editing like I do.

My day is getting considerably better. It all started last night when my husband’s lungs suddenly filled up with congestion and he got a deep chest cough, out of NOWHERE. He was totally fine all day and then BAM! We think he’s having allergy issues this year so he’s been taking a daily allergy pill. He remembered that he forgot to take it yesterday, so he took one last night and one this morning and now feels totally fine. But when he woke up this morning he didn’t. So I woke up to a not-feeling-well husband and a very cranky baby who wanted his breakfast RIGHT NOW and didn’t want to wait for Mommy to change his poopy diaper first. Not a great start to the day. I got pretty mad about it. After being bored, lonely, and frustrated all week I was really looking forward to this weekend and darn it, I was ticked!

But my husband started to feel better, and we were able to sit and chat over coffee for a while after the baby went down for his morning nap and now we’re both doing much better.

Right now baby is down for his second nap of the day, and husband is doing some paint patchwork in our bathroom. When we bought this house, every room was a different color, and the paint job itself was hideous. Uneven, blotchy, smeared on trimwork and ceilings. The colors were kind of bizarre to us, too. The bathroom was bright burn-your-eyeballs-out lavender. I have nothing against lavender normally. But this lavender was horrible. So we painted it a nice rich oatmeal-ish color, but hadn’t gotten around to actually finishing it, so there were bits and pieces of the lavender still shining through. But no more!!! Mwah ha ha haaaa!

Another bit of good news today that has put me in a very good mood: My mom asked me to be her guinea pig for a new skincare line her business started carrying! I’ve been wanting to try it, and now I get to. Hopefully it works. See, I’ve had acne since I was 11 years old. I even remember where on my face my first zit was. It’s been downhill ever since. And now I’m almost 27 years old and STILL dealing with acne. I’ve had short periods of time with clear-ish skin over the years, but nothing seemed to ever stick and my old problems would come back. It’s hard on a girl’s ego. There are times when I wonder if acne is God’s way of keeping me humble. I could be wearing a killer outfit, having a great hair day, but all I think about is the acne on my face and is it covered? Can everyone see it? And ugh, I hate feeling like I’m the only girl my age wearing as much makeup as I am. Although I’m very, very good with makeup. I am the zit cover-up master. But it’s still hard when all the “beauty tips” for girls in my age range are “Show off your glowing dewy skin!” and I’m thinking “But what if you don’t HAVE glowing dewy skin?”. Stupid beauty magazines. Or “This is all you have to do for acne!” and I’m thinking “Been there, done that, didn’t work, moving on.”

I can hear the baby talking over the monitor right now. He’s started saying “Mama” this week, though most of the time it takes him a few tries to get the “M” sound. It’ll start out “Wawawa” and then “Bababa” and then maybe “Dadada” but eventually he gets to “Mamamama”. It’s so cute! Melts my heart. Last night as I was getting ready to give him his “bedtime snack”, he was sitting on his daddy’s lap and when he saw me getting ready he got this desperate look on his little face and said “Mamamamamama!”. It’s so exciting that he’s making the connection – that “Mama” and “Dada” are not just sounds to make, but these two people who love him so much.

I’ve set a new weight-loss goal for myself. I know, that was random, but that’s what this streams-of-consciousness thing is. Anyway, my new goal: I want to shoot for the lowest weight I remember being in my adult life. Don’t worry, it’s not unhealthily skinny. I’ve checked and it’s well within a healthy BMI for me. I know I’ll probably hear a lot of “But you already look great!” from people, and I appreciate that, I really do. But I’m not doing this for other people – I’m doing it for me, because I know I can do better for myself than I’ve been doing. I can exercise more, I can eat better, I can make better day-to-day choices for myself. It’s not about trying to be prettier or wanting to fit in a certain jeans size. It’s about not settling, and it’s about gaining more discipline. If I only lose half the pounds I want to lose, but I gain more discipline and become healthier and stronger, I will still consider it a success. But I won’t know unless I try.

Okay, I think that wraps it up. I have to give the baby his next meal soon. And then we’re going to go run errands to get a few things for this weekend.

Happy 4^th of July, everyone!

Male readers be warned: girly talk ahead.

It’s been a rough week for me. Normally being home doesn’t bother me all that much. I’m a total homebody – given the choice, I’d almost always default to staying home. That doesn’t mean I always default to staying home. I know that wouldn’t be healthy, so I try to get out and about a decent amount. One of my friends just started a weekly playgroup at her house, which falls on the perfect day because it breaks up my week and makes it feel not as long. And Jazzercise helps, too. When I get to go. I haven’t been in over a month. It’s been one thing after another. Getting sick, sore knees, stomach cramps, getting sick again. Where was I? Oh yeah. Anyway, being home doesn’t tend to bother me or make me feel lonely or bored.

This week, however, was a nightmare. A long, slow, water drip of a nightmare. I woke up Monday morning not feeling well. My throat felt very strange and my energy was drained. I had caught the bug my husband had just fought off. Great. Fabulous. I figured a day or two of laying low would do the trick and I’d be over it in no time.

Not so much. Today, Thursday, I finally started to feel somewhat normal the second half of the day.

Which means I have been cooped up in the house since MONDAY.

And I have slowly gone insane.

There was nothing good on TV. None of my books sounded appealing. The baby was going through a “Isn’t it fun to wake Mommy and Daddy up at 4 in the morning!” phase. I had a boatload of baby food to cook. It felt like my days were an endless cycle of nursing, feeding, diapers, cooking, dishes, and then more dishes. And then more dishes. And then more dishes. And when I’m not feeling well on top of all that, it’s a recipe for disaster. Slow-cooked disaster.

Because let’s add on top of that pile like a big old dollop of sour cream, the fact that I’m hormonal. Yippy skippy. I was aware this week was coming, but that still doesn’t stop the inevitable onslaught of hormones that suddenly seize control of my already frazzled emotions. Which makes controlling my already hot and spicy temper even more challenging.

And that would be how I found myself standing in the middle of the kitchen ready to explode over the fact that my husband didn’t rinse out the Tupperware from his lunch.

I did not explode, though. Praise the Lord. Mostly, it was that we had just put the baby to bed and after the past several nights of difficulty I didn’t want to go into a shouting fit and scare the poor little guy. That sure turned out to be providential. Husband and I were able to resolve the matter quickly and quietly, and he gave me a big hug and told me it was all going to be okay, that he understood I’d had a tough week and it was almost over.

Sigh. Yes, it’s almost over. Tomorrow is Friday. Blessed Friday! My mom is going to come over to watch the baby while I go get a haircut. I cannot even begin to describe what getting a haircut means to me right now. It’s like a lush oasis in the middle of the Gobi desert. I get my hair cut at this big-box chain salon/spa, which is actually very nice. When you get there, they give you a warm towel with aromatherapy oils while you wait for your stylist. Then my stylist gives me a deep scalp massage before she shampoos my hair. And then, when she’s done with my hair, she goes and gets a little lip gloss for me to “polish things off.” It’s a little slice of heaven.

My husband gets off work early tomorrow, too! And we’ve got plans. Plans in the form of a big old T-bone steak named Date Night sitting in our refrigerator.

Moms.

We put everyone before ourselves.

We vacuum.

We dust.

We do laundry. (Well, some of us do, I suppose…I’m still working on making that a regular thing…)

We cook edible meals, even if it is just out of a box or a can. But we make it look pretty.

We change diapers.

We kiss boo-boos.

We act as a taxi service.

We act as a child psychiatrist.

We act as a super hot wife. (When we’re not in our sweatpants because we can’t stand the idea of getting spit-up or pureed yams on our clean jeans.)

And we roll out of bed at 4 in the morning when the baby suddenly decides that’s when he wants breakfast. Like he did today.

Because it’s just what we do.

I’m really trying to be a more organized, efficient wife these days. We’re on a pretty strict budget, and I want to be helpful towards that in the kitchen, so in an effort to save money on lunches I decided to try a recipe from one of the cookbooks I inherited from my aunt.

Falafel!!!!

Falafel, for those of you who may be unfamiliar with this wonderful little hamburger of the Middle East, is basically ground up chickpeas (garbanzo beans) with some spices and other flavorings that is then deep fried into oh-so-yummy goodness. It is typically served, as far as I know, inside a pita with lettuce, tomatoes, and some kind of spread. I figured we could do falafel in pita pockets with tomatoes, lettuce, and tzatziki sauce.

Incidentally, isn’t that fun to say? Tzatziki. Tzatziki. Tzatziki. It is so delicious too. Tzatziki is what mayonnaise wishes it was.

This cookbook of mine is a “healthy” cookbook that takes regular recipes and slashes the fat and calories without sacrificing taste. I’ve tried a couple other recipes and they’ve all been good. So hey, let’s give falafel a try! I figured I could make a double-batch and we’d have enough for both of us for a week. We already had everything except the chickpeas. So on our last grocery trip we loaded up a few cans of those marvelous little golden beans and I prepared to do the falafel dance.

Visions were dancing in my head of THIS:

So I made my chickpea mush in the food processor and molded it into little patties:

Heated up some oil in the cast iron skillet, and…

THIS:

Is what I got. They fell completely apart when I tried to flip them over and continued to crumble as I transferred them to the cooling rack. And they’re just…well darn it, they’re just not pretty.

Sadness. I know. Far from the beautiful golden-brown crispy heaven I had imagined. Recipe modifications are in order. Perhaps it was just using egg whites that did it. Maybe next time I’ll leave in the yolks and see what happens.

Oh well. At least they still taste good and my husband is excited about having such an exotic lunch. I figure the falafel will be just as good crumbled into bits as it would have in perfect little patties. So I’ll let them crumble how they will, and we’ll just stuff them into pita pockets that way.

But my tzatziki sauce turned out great! It did come out of the blender kind of liquidy, so I’m hoping it solidifies by tomorrow morning. I’ll let you know…

I LOVE this movie. Absolutely love it. It combines two of my favorite things – cooking and writing – in the most entertaining and hilariously acted form. I can’t get enough of it. Husband bought it for me for Christmas and I’ve watched it probably a dozen times. I can quote along with the movie as I watch.

There are a lot of things in this story I can really relate to. But the one line that sticks with me is this:

“Julia Child wasn’t always Julia Child.” – Eric Powell, Julie’s husband.

That really makes me think every time I hear it. It was relatively late in life that Julia Child discovered her love of cooking and became an author, teacher, chef, and inspiration to people across the globe. But she didn’t count herself out of the game because of her age. She did what she did because she loved it and she wanted to share it with people. Who cared how old she was? She sure didn’t.

I think in today’s society we often get stuck on the idea that we have to accomplish anything worth accomplishing by a certain age. But if everyone thought that way we wouldn’t have Julia Child. We probably wouldn’t have a lot of people who have made a huge impact on the world.

Sometimes I beat myself up because I’m closer to thirty than twenty now, and I don’t feel like I’ve done anything. So then I feel like giving up. But when I watch Julie & Julia, I feel inspired again. I remember that God doesn’t care how old we are or what kind of background we have or don’t have. It’s not too late for me to write my own Mastering the Art of French Cooking. I’ll write it when the time is right. It won’t matter what my age is.

And in the meanwhile I’ll keep coming here and writing for kicks. I’ll write about funny things, deep things, spiritual things, random things, sad things, beautiful things, serious things…I’m finding inspiration everywhere and it’s so refreshing!